Muscle for Hire (16 page)

Whatever answer Rowan was going to provide was halted by a group of women squealing Chris’s name from a yacht sailing past them.
If
she was going to answer at all. By the way she continued to stare out over the boat’s aft, her spine stiff, her jaw bunched, Aslin highly doubted a word was going to pass her lips.

He studied her, the thrum of the boat’s motor adding to the churning sensation in his gut.

Berlin. New Delhi.

She hadn’t mentioned New Delhi last night. Come to think of it, they’d hardly talked about anything last night. They’d fucked. Showered. Fucked some more. Ordered room service. Ignored the food as they went at it again. Picked at the cold burgers and chips while searching for something on the hotel movie service to watch before giving up any pretense of being restrained and fucking like rabbits again. Aslin drove his blunt nails into his palms. When, in amongst all that, had any chance of talking about their future plans popped up?

Future plans? Christ, boyo. What future plans? Maybe she didn’t think to mention it because as far as she’s concerned, whatever this thing is between you, it’s over when she leaves Sydney?

A gripping pressure wrapped Aslin’s chest and he bit back a curse. He had no grounds for being angry, but he was. Angry he’d let himself reach this state. It had to be because he felt adrift. Uncertain about where his life was heading. That was the only explanation he could think of.

The subject of Rowan’s future tournament didn’t come up for the rest of the trip around Sydney Harbour. Nor did filming. But the relaxed calm Aslin had experienced since making love to Rowan in his trailer had deserted him.

Back on set, he stood in the wings, watching Chris and Vin Diesel beat it out for the cameras, interjecting when necessary. Chris’s fighting technique had improved considerably, a fact the stunt coordinator commented on more than once with begrudging respect. But not even that could elevate Aslin’s dark state of mind. He’d gone and fallen for a woman who didn’t need him. For that, he had no solution.

When his cell phone started sounding out the “Funeral March”, he pulled it from his pocket and walked off set. “What’s up, Nick?”

His boss laughed. “Not having a good time, Uncle As?”

“Do you have a crazed stalker after you, Blackthorne? Or can I just hang up now?”

Nick laughed again. “Settle down, Aslin. I just wanted to let you know Lauren, Josh and I are flying out of the country tomorrow. I thought I’d show them the beauty of autumn in New York before Josh has to go back to school.”

The tight pressure that gripped Aslin’s chest back on the boat wrapped around it again. “Okay, boss. Give me five hours and I’ll be home.”

“Aslin.” Nick’s voice was steady. “You’re staying put.”

Aslin fixed his stare on a group of people—most likely extras, by the military combat uniforms they wore—walking toward the set. His throat grew thick. “Is this it then? Time for me to find another job?”

“No, As. Just time for you to enjoy being Aslin Rhodes, not Nick Blackthorne’s nameless bodyguard.” Nick paused. “Understand what I’m getting at?”

Aslin swallowed, tracking the approaching extras without really seeing them.

“Besides,” Nick went on, “I keep seeing you in the background of the images of Huntley popping up all over the media. Standing there next to your friend from the hospital car park.”

“Rowan,” Aslin murmured, his chest heavy.

“I know who she is, As. And I don’t want to take you away from her.”

Aslin let out a short grunt. “Don’t think that’s a situation to worry about. She’s flying out for Berlin on Sunday. Or maybe New Delhi.”

“And you’re not going with her?”

Go with her? If she asked him to go with her, would he?

Aslin’s pulse smashed hard in his neck. Bloody hell, he would.

“She hasn’t asked, boss.”

“And you’re going to wait for her to do so?”

Aslin ground his teeth at Nick’s pointed question.

“Do you remember when I decided Lauren was the only woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, Aslin?”

“I do.”

“Can you remember how fucked up I was before I found her again?”

“Are you saying I’m fucked up, Nick?”

Nick laughed. “I’m saying don’t let the chance of happiness slip away, Rhodes. Grab it, hold it. Hell, strangle it if you have to. But don’t let it slip away. Trust me on this, okay?”

Aslin closed his eyes, drew a long, slow breath and released it.

“Now get back to work,” Nick ordered, the grin in his voice unmistakable. “I’ve got to pack for New York. Oh, and we’ll be gone for a while, so there’s no need to hurry back from Sydney. Take Rowan somewhere perfect and private on that bike of yours. Got it?”

Nick disconnected the call before Aslin could respond.

Studying the group of extras, Aslin let out a breath. Nick was correct. Aslin had watched the singer come close to self-destructing, and it was only when he’d acknowledged Lauren Robbins was his heart and future that he’d found true peace. Aslin didn’t know if Rowan was his heart and his future, but he damn well wanted the chance to find out.

He shoved his phone into his pocket and turned to the film set behind him.

And then spun back around to face the extras.

One of them was wrong.

He narrowed his eyes, staring hard at the group. Picking out the extra that had caught his attention. Tufts of blazing red hair poked out from under a helmet that looked like it came from a costume shop, not a military supply store.

Thick, over-zealous make-up coated the extra’s face.

The extra that was the crazed fan hell bent on meeting Chris.

Aslin ground his teeth. “Fuck it.”

He ran at the group, letting out a disgusted groan when the woman squealed and took off. She stumbled through the extras, shoving aside those in her way in her bid to escape him.

Aslin increased his speed, keeping his stare locked on her back. Exasperation knotted through his anger. When he was finished dealing with her he was going to have a word with security. How the hell she kept getting on site was inexcusable.

With a yelp, the fleeing fan darted right, her feet skidding on the concrete and an incredulous part of Aslin’s mind noticed she was wearing hot-pink running shoes.

How the bloody hell had she fooled Security in those damn—

The woman yanked off her toy-shop helmet and hurled it at Aslin. “Fuck off, Pom!” she yelled, scrambling left.

Around them, film crew stopped and stared.

“Go back to England!”

Aslin ground his teeth and pushed more speed into his legs. He was done being a nice guy.

Crash-tackling her to the ground, he grabbed her wrists before she could scratch him with her nails. “Enough,” he snapped, hauling her to her feet.

The crowd cheered, more than one laughing at the woman’s wild efforts to break free of Aslin’s grip. In amongst her kicking legs and attempts to spit on him, Aslin spied a swarm of burly men dressed in black running toward them.

About sodding—

Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder.

With a snarl, he jerked away from the woman’s bite. “That’s enough.”

“Found yourself a girlfriend, Rhodes?”

The broad Australian accent told Aslin that Liev Reynolds was behind him. The chuckle in the part-time bodyguard’s voice told him Reynolds thought the situation funny.

“She’s a charmer, this one,” the Australian pointed out. “Want me to give you a—”

“Chris!”
the woman shrieked.
“Chris, it’s me! Belinda! Chris!”

At the sound of her name, the men dressed in black let out a collection of curses.

Leiv laughed. “Think they know her?”

Yanking the writhing woman harder against his chest, Aslin shot Chris, who was standing behind Nigel and a collection of crew a few yards away, a quick look. “Do you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at the closest security guard.

The man nodded, unclipping a set of handcuffs from his belt. “Yeah. She’s been a nuisance since filming started. Keeps sending requests for autographs. Begging to meet Mr. Huntley. Don’t know how she does it, but she keeps getting on site.”

He stepped forward, snared the fan’s upper arm and tugged her toward him.

“Chris!”
She screamed. “It’s Belinda!
Chris!
”

Aslin turned to the actor, the stunned expression telling him exactly what he’d suspected—Chris had no idea who the woman was. It was an expression Aslin was more than familiar with. Nick had worn it often when confronted by unhinged, obsessed fanatics.

Returning his attention to the guard, he watched the man click the cuffs around the struggling woman’s wrists. “Time to call the cops, honey,” the guard snarled.

“I love you, Chris!”
she cried, stare fixed on the actor as the security team dragged her away.
“Will you sign my—”

Whatever she wanted signed was muffled, no doubt by the hand of the guard holding her.

Silence fell over the surrounding film crew. For about ten seconds. And then, almost as one, normality resumed. People continued walking to their previous destinations, calls on cell phones were made, conversation continued. The military-dressed extras mingled about, casting uncertain looks between each other until the second unit director hurried over and rounded them up.

“So does this mean I’m not needed anymore, Rhodes?”

Aslin turned his attention to Liev Reynolds, finding the Australian smirking beside him.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not yet. Huntley’s too easy a target and my gut…” He stopped. His gut was telling him something was wrong. Something that had nothing to do with Belinda.

Rowan. You still believe someone is trying to hurt Rowan.

He did. But for some reason he hadn’t pushed the subject with her.

Some reason? Perhaps because you were distracted losing yourself in her body? Making love to her until you could barely move?

Fucking her senseless?

“Rhodes?”

He gave Liev a steady look. “Stay on him, but keep it low. Just in case.”

The bodyguard nodded. “Righto. Will let you know if anything feels off.”

Without any seeming interest in Chris, who was currently making his way toward them both, the Australian shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and ambled away.

“I tell you,” the actor said, a grin splitting his face, “this trip to Oz truly has been wild.”

Aslin raised an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine life is ever boring for you.”

Chris chuckled. “Rowie keeps things pretty normal. Well, as normal as it can get for someone in my line of work.”

“Does it annoy you? Her meddling in your affairs? Telling you what you can and can’t do?”

Chris burst out laughing. “Not at all. She’s right to. I’m a lost cause without her. Before she stepped up to the plate and took charge, I was pissing away all my money on booze, parties and who the fuck knows what else. Poor Tilly had to deal with a lot of shit and vomit back then, I gotta say.”

“You know anyone who
would
be irritated by it?”

An unreadable tension pulled at Chris’s face. He studied Aslin, eyes narrow, shoulders straightening. “No. Should I?”

The band of pressure that had made itself at home around Aslin’s chest grew tight once again. For a second, he considered telling Chris his thoughts. For a second. “No.” He shook his head with a smile. “Just wondering if I’m the only one she frustrates to no end.”

Better to keep Chris in the dark. A worried brother would make it impossible to catch whoever it was.

And that’s your plan now? To catch them?

It was.

A relaxed guffaw bubbled past Chris’s lips. “Ah, I figured she was getting under your skin. If it helps, it means she likes you. A lot.”

If the band squeezing Aslin’s chest grew any tighter, he’d be asphyxiating.

Likes you. A lot.

What about loves?

The unspoken question punched into Aslin. He forced his hands into fists as he watched Rowan walk up to Nigel and Tilly a few feet away. His heart quickened.

“So what are your thoughts on coming to Berlin?”

Chris’s question slid Aslin’s focus back to the actor. “I haven’t any yet.”

Chris pulled a contemplative face. “What if I ask you about your thoughts on going to New Delhi?”

Aslin ground his teeth.

“Yeah.” Chris chuckled. “Figured as much. Want me to ask her to the prom for you?”

Aslin’s withering glare didn’t stop Chris from laughing again. Nor did Rowan’s arrival at Chris’s side with Tilly in tow.

Rowan gave her brother a curious frown. “What’s so funny?”

“The British super soldier here.” Chris threw a nod in Aslin’s direction. “He wants to ask you to the prom.”

Rowan’s frown vanished. “The prom? What the—”

“Do they have the prom in England?” Tilly asked.